Achilles' Heel
by LadyBush
Summary: Commodore Norrington, scourge of piracy in the Caribbean, has one weakness. That weakness is Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate. SLASH
1. A Kiss In The Dark

Disclaimer: I own a poster of Captain Jack Sparrow. If I owned the real thing I wouldn't bother with the poster. 

Warning: Jack Sparrow/ Commodore Norrington slash. Repeated references to Jack Sparrow's eyes. 

Feedback: Pretty please! 

_Achilles' Heel- Chapter 1: A Kiss In The Dark _

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_ The Day Before Jack Sparrow's Execution_

It's so humid that underneath my uniform coat my shirt is plastered to my body with sweat. I mop my brow with a handkerchief. Lord, how I hate formal dinners.

"Did I mention that my niece is to marry a young English gentlemen? He has ten thousand pounds a year, would you believe?"

I try to smile at the fat, red-faced idiot across from me. "How nice," I manage to say.

"A match well made, eh? There's nothing like a smart match to bring on an appetite!" He belches loudly.

"Uuumm…"

_Judging by the man's girth, he must have witnessed several thousand good matches_. His name is Fitzpatrick. _Sir_ Fitzpatrick. He makes a fortune exporting rum- and he'll make another fortune on top of that once I've finished with piracy in the Caribbean.

"I hear you're to marry the Governor's daughter?"

"Yes."

"How lovely."

"Um."

"You must be happy."

I nod. _I'd be even happier if he'd stop talking and let me go._

"Will you join me in a toast, Commodore?" 

I try to smile. "Certainly." _Anything to bring this dinner to an end. _

"To yourself, Commodore. The scourge of piracy!" 

"To me, then!" I say and raise my class before realising, a second to late, that I'm supposed to be polite. "And to you, sir. Exporter of the finest rum in the Caribbean!" 

Fitzpatrick grins at me. "You're a man of taste, I see." He gets up and waddles over to a draw cabinet across the room. "This is for you, Norrington. Let's call is a token of my gratitude." He hands me a bottle of rum.

"How kind," I say. _God, I hate rum._

And suddenly an idea hits me.

_The Night Before The Execution_

Splash. Splash. Splash.

The rain has been pouring down solidly for three hours. Down here, in the cells, the floor is littered with puddles.

"Bit wet," says Jack Sparrow complacently as I step into the light (there is a faint, flickering candle in a bracket on the wall just across from his cell).

"Indeed," I reply. I try to make my voice sound cold but I fear that the slight tremor betrays the emotion behind my words.

Pity is coursing through me like the blood in my veins. Jack Sparrow- pirate, thief, sinner- is huddled on the floor amidst dirty straw. His dark eyes are gazing into mine. Odd, but they look different to how they used to be. Then it hits me: he's not drunk. His gaze is no longer clouded with the effect of rum. His eyes are deep, pleading, almost hungry…

…The eyes of a man facing death. I turn away.

"Why are you here, Commodore?"

I don't answer him. I'm too busy trying to coax the candle back into some semblance of life.

He keeps talking, as if he's afraid of the silence. "Because if you're here for a little tête à tête, some stimulating conversation, an exchange of notes on dear Elizabeth, then…"

"Leave Elizabeth out of this," I snap and abandon my attempts with the candle. It'll die soon and then I won't have to look into those hungry eyes of his.

"Lovely girl, Elizabeth. Nice smile. Shame about her chest, or should I say, lack thereof…"

"Damn you," I say, quietly this time.

"I already am damned," replies Jack. He grins at me, a foolish death's-head grin that makes his gold teeth glimmer in the candlelight.

Once again, our eyes meet. Once again, I have to look away. "I'm here to bargain with you," I say, finding with relief that my voice is now steady.

"What exactly is it you want, Commodore Norrington, pray tell?" I think he's mocking me.

"I want information," I say. "On pirates. Watering holes, taverns, brothels, caves, stores, people, names… Anything that will put an end to piracy."

Sparrow laughs- a harsh, rasping noise. "You want my to betray my own?"

I move closer towards the wretched figure looking up at me from the floor. I move so close that my cheek is touching the cell's bars. "It seems to me that your 'own' betrayed you often enough…" I whisper.

I don't look at Sparrow but I can hear him shuffling in the straw. When he speaks his voice is gravelly. "So say that I do betray my own, Commodore. What do I get for my trouble? A pardon?"

I shake my head but still don't dare to look at him, lest those dreadful hungry eyes seek out mine. "You get rum."

The candle dims slightly. It won't last much longer. "One bottle of neat rum." I take the bottle out of my greatcoat pocket. It's safe to look at Sparrow now as his eyes are fixed on the rum.

Nevertheless, it's a long time before he speaks. "There's a watering hole. Small island, more of an inlet, two hundred miles nor' nor' west of Tortuga. Dominated by a giant rock shaped like a…" he thinks for a moment, "…lizard. Hard to miss, really. Natural harbour on the south coast. Literally crawling with pirates."

The minute he mentions a rock shaped as a lizard, I realise he's lying. Moreover, I think he knows that I know he's lying. Even now, twelve hours away from dancing on the end of a rope, he won't betray his fellow pirates.

So there is honour amongst thieves.

I pass the bottle of rum through the bars and he snatches it from my grasp. "Thank you," he gasps before putting the bottle to his cracked lips and taking great gulps of the liquid.

The bottle is nearly a third emptier before he pauses. "You've done me a good turn, Commodore," he says, hauling himself up off the floor and looking directly at me. I can meet his eyes now- the rum had quashed the burning hunger and fear in them and he looks like any drunken pirate awaiting a trip to the gallows. "Now let me tell you something in return."

I shake my head. When I speak my voice is clipped, precise and utterly devoid of emotion. "I'm leaving now, pirate. Try praying for your soul, it'll need it." I make to leave but Sparrow reaches through the bars and grasps the lapels of my heavy greatcoat.

I panic slightly, wondering if this man has a razor hidden somewhere with which to cut my throat. "Let me go," I gasp. Instead, he drags me closer.

"_You're not like them_," he says. _"You think you're immortal but you're not. You have an Achilles' heel; the Greek sin…" _

"What do you mean?" I demand, even as I recoil from the heady scent of rum on his breath. For God's sake, why am I listening to a half-drunk pirate talking in metaphors?

"Just words," he replies and I know he's toying with me. "What makes you think that words have meanings?"

The candle dies out with a violent flicker and we're plunged into darkness.

"Not afraid of the dark, are you?" he says, huskily, his breath tickling my cheek.

"Let me go, Sparrow!" I know he's stronger than me and have stopped struggling.

He doesn't reply immediately and for a moment my ears are fixed upon the sound of driving rain and howling wind. Then softly he whispers in my ear. "Pirates have a duty, Commodore. A duty to keep to the Pirate Code; to abandon those that fall behind. Nobody will rescue me tomorrow because I've fallen behind. But I still have a duty. You and me both know that I was lying before. There is no lizard shaped island. A pirate doesn't betray another pirate: so there's honour in piracy, don't suppose that ever occurred to you before, eh?"

He stops for a moment and takes another swig of rum. I start to struggle again while he's only holding me with one hand but he's unbelievably strong. "Aside from the honour thing, though. I'm left with just one more duty." My muscles tense as I prepare to jerk free. He's going to kill me, I'm sure. He laughs manically. "To corrupt society wherever possible!"

I relax. "And how do you suppose you are going to corrupt me, Sparrow?"

He kisses me. It happens in a split-second; his lips are suddenly pressed against mine, hard and bruising. In my horror, I open my mouth to cry out but a greedy, snaking tongue dives in and stifles my cry.

Then a second later its over. He releases me and I hear him (for I still can't see a thing) move to the other side of his cell. I stand stock-still for perhaps ten seconds, too shocked to move. "You kissed me!" I cry in indignation. "What on earth do you think you-"?

"-Pirate!"

I retreat up the stone steps and out of the cells, slipping twice in the darkness.

I plunge out into the hot night, to be drenched by the warm rain. The guard pays me no attention: I've tipped him a gold coin; he'll not speak.

_Tbc…_


	2. One Day's Head Start

Thank you to all my chapter one reviewers. I apologise for the delay (due to a combination of exams and a month away) and assure you that the next chapter will be lightning fast.

Warning: The rating will be raised to R for chapter Four.

_Chapter Two- One Day's Head Start _  


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_Execution Day_

In the Royal Navy, the act of sodomy (love with another man) is punishable only by death. Since the age of twelve when I joined the Navy as a midshipman, I've known this. Indeed, when I was fifteen years old, I saw a sodomite hung from the yardarm of my old ship, the _Indestructible_. I can still call up the memory of the seamen spitting at the corpse.

It's now five O'clock in the morning, the rain stopped two hours since and the day should dawn bright and clear. I haven't managed to get a moment's sleep, of course. Every time I close my eyes and surrender myself to the darkness, I recall the feeling of Sparrow kissing me; his harsh lips pressed against mine and his fierce tongue. I have drunk three glasses of brandy to little avail: I can still taste the rum on me.

I keep wondering just how different I am from that sodomite hung at Portsmouth twenty years ago. Am I innocent because I didn't kiss back? Or should I never have let Sparrow get that close to me anyway? Did part of my enjoy it? Stupid questions, I know, but I can't stop thinking.

Eventually, I climb out of my bed and leave my room near the bottom of the fort to take a walk on the battlements. To my intense surprise, the pale half-light of the approaching dawn allows me to distinguish the Governor of Port Royal pacing up and down.

I greet him. "Good morning, Mr Swann."

"Good morning, Commodore," says the Governor. "I can scarcely credit that it is morning; it feels more like the middle of the night to me!"

"Indeed," I say. The ability to make intelligent conversation seems to have momentarily deserted me.

"How come you to be up at this hour, Commodore?"

"I wished to see the dawn, that is all." I make a conscious effort to sound more like myself. "The dawn of the day on which a pirate shall meet the end he rightly deserves!" My voice sounds forced and shrill even to my own ears.

The Governor looks at me sadly. "I am not so sure if he does so rightly deserve this fate."

His answer astonishes me. "What do you mean, sir?" I ask. For one absurd moment, I wonder if Sparrow has kissed the Governor as well.

He wrinkles his forehead in thought, just as a burning sun appears over the horizon in the East. "Without Sparrow, the pirate, Elizabeth would be dead right now," he says slowly. "I have been thinking upon this all night- I have found it quite impossible to sleep."

"As we have said before, Governor: one good deed is not enough to redeem a lifetime of wickedness. Half of the cutpurses, smugglers, footpads and murderers in the Caribbean would jump at the chance to save a young woman from drowning. No doubt a woman in distress is an easy target for these people." I shake my head. "Who knows what might have happened to Elizabeth had we not showed up when we did?"

_Who knows what might have happened had I kissed Sparrow back?_

Governor Swann looks unconvinced. "Still, Sparrow helped us back at the Treasure Caves. We were in a tight spot when the Dauntless was attacked." He shudders. "I know that we can't grant clemency to a pirate, it's just that this is a-"

I finish the Governor's sentence. "-Nasty business. I know. You must not think me inhumane, Governor. I feel it too."

"Nasty business indeed," he says, before taking his leave of me.

I stand alone on the battlements as the sun rises in the sky and realise with a sudden startling clarity that I don't want to see Sparrow killed. He has taught me that there is honour amongst thieves.

He has also kissed me and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe...

No, this thinking is stupid. I am the Commodore; I am a man of the law. I know my duty and I shall carry it out. If there is honour amongst pirates, there is far more honour amongst officers of His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy.

_The Execution_

I'm standing next to the Commodore; Elizabeth is on his other side. The sun has risen full in the sky and the world seems all the brighter for the recent rain.

I look at Jack Sparrow; standing in front of the noose, for what I promise myself is the last time. I can detect nothing of a man about to face death in his countenance; he looks as relaxed as any of the spectators in the crowd. He turns and smiles in my direction, so the gold in his teeth catches the sunlight. I look away. How can a man smile at such a time as this?

Seeing the smile, it occurs to me suddenly that despite his words of last night concerning the Pirate Code, he may be expecting to be rescued. Automatically, my eyes scan the crowds gathered to witness the execution. I cannot see anything to alert suspicion in me. Am I just being paranoid?

My reverie is interrupted by an official starts listing the reasons for Sparrow's execution in a voice entirely lacking in animation.

I glance at Elizabeth and she glares back at me. I am not at all surprised to see the hatred burning in her eyes.

"..._Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature: piracy, smuggling..."_

"This is wrong!" she says for the fifth time.

I long to agree with her but instead I merely stare directly ahead and start to dig the nails of my right hand into my left palm behind my back.

"Commodore Norrington is bound by the law, as are we all," the Governor replies. He at least understands my position.

"..._Impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England, sailing under false colours, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation and general lawlessness and for these crimes you have been sentenced on this day to be hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."_

Elizabeth murmurs 'hypocrite' quietly but William Turner appears before the Governor can tell her off. I feel a vague stab of jealousy at the way Turner is dressed- he looks outlandish, certainly, with that ridiculous feather in his hat, but he also looks far more dashing than I do in my Navy Blue uniform coat and masses of brocade.

"Governor Swann, Commodore," says Turner. I nod tersely in acknowledgement. "Elizabeth. I should have told you everyday from the moment I met you- I love you."

For a minute I think I've imagined it. No. What the hell is Turner playing at? I turn to Elizabeth but there's something in her eyes; something I don't like the look of.

I turn away from Elizabeth and my eyes follow Turner into the crowd, where there appears to be some sort of commotion. My muscles tense in anticipation of action. Suddenly, I realise what's going on: Turner is trying to rescue Jack Sparrow!

"Marines!" I shout.

"I can't breathe," gasps Elizabeth falling backwards. I linger torn between my duty to Elizabeth and stopping Turner.

The drum roll ends suddenly and Elizabeth sits up as Sparrow falls through the trapdoor.

I dash down towards the crowd. "MOVE!" I cry, shoving people out of my way. The Marines are at my back, pressing me forwards- and, Oh God, the hangman...

I'm knocked to the floor. "Ugh." I groan, as the giant rolls off me. I can hear the clanking of swords, through the ringing in my ears. I shake my head a couple of times and haul myself to my feet, chase after Sparrow and Turner. I run up the stone steps leading towards the fort's eastern wall.

And I find Sparrow and Turner are surrounded.

I put on my most 'Commodore' voice as I address Will Turner. "I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt but not from you."

To his credit, Turner does not reply.

Governor Swann, my ally, speaks up. "On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency. And this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He's a pirate!"

"And a good man," says Will.

A good man. Can a pirate be a good man? I doubt it. _His lips against mine. His tongue in my mouth. A kiss in the dark. Everywhere, the taste of rum._

"If all I have achieved is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one then so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."

Brave words, Turner. Brave but very foolish.

"You forget your place, Turner," I say. It's quite possible that I'm referring to his behaviour concerning Elizabeth as much as his attempt to rescue Sparrow.

"It's right here, between you and Jack."

"As is mine," Elizabeth says, she steps into the circle of marines and the sunlight is golden on her skin, on her hair.

And my heart should break but it doesn't. There's just this lead weight in my stomach- dread of what will happen next, dread at the thought of someone, this beautiful golden young woman tearing away the Commodore mask to reveal the uncertain man beneath.

"Elizabeth!" Governor Swann looks shocked. "Put your weapons down. For Goodness' sake lower your weapons." The circle of bayonets is lowered: the command given to lower it not mine. I'm losing control.

I face Elizabeth. "So this is where your heart truly lies?" I ask, my voice sounding hollow, my one concession to weakness. This is public humiliation at its worst.

"It is."

Ditched for a blacksmith, little better than a pirate. I glance at Sparrow.

And that Goddamn pirate is smiling again. "Well I'm actually feeling rather good about this," he says. "I think we've all arrived at a very special place spiritually...ecumenically...grammatically."

And then Sparrow comes up to me, so close. A wave of panic courses through me, as I think he's going to kiss me again, in public. As if today could get any worse! Instead, though, he says: "I want you to know that I was rooting for you. Know that." He winks slyly at me when nobody can see.

"Elizabeth, it would never have worked between us, darling. Will, nice hat." Turner looks absurdly pleased. "Friends!" cries Sparrow, backing up, though exactly where he actually intends to go is beyond me. "This is the day you will always remember as the day that-"

And the pirate falls over the battlements.

Gillette, as always, is right at my side and determined to irritate me. "Fool! He's nowhere to go but back to the noose!"

I wouldn't be so sure. "SAIL HO!" shouts a sentry.

And here I stand: a failure in love and a failure as an officer.

Gillette is making his presence known again, like an annoying child plucking at my sleeve. "What's your plan of action, Sir?"

For the first time in my life, I really don't know.

The Governor saves me. "Perhaps on the rare occasion pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?" His words mirror my own feelings so closely that I wonder again if Sparrow has not seduced the Governor as well. The thought cheers me up marginally and I allow myself a grim half-smile before I face Turner.

"Mr Turner."

He tells Elizabeth that he will accept the consequences of his actions. Against my better judgement, perhaps, I find myself admiring the boy. Bravery must always be admired. I know now what I must do.

"This is a beautiful sword," I tell Turner. "I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.

He thanks me but I don't want to hear it. I want to be gone from this place.

I turn my back on Turner, on Elizabeth, and almost manage to walk away before Gillette pipes up.

"COMMODORE! WHAT ABOUT SPARROW?!"

I determine to say something that will become a legend amongst my men: something that will turn defeat into hope. "Well, I think we can afford to give him one day's head start!"

Never in my life have I been more grateful to leave somewhere than I am now to leave the battlements.

"Saddle my horse," I order an aid. Then I turn to the assembled marines and Gillette who have followe me. "I will have these men aboard the Dauntless, lieutenant. We will make sail tomorrow at first light."

The aid brings me horse and I ride away from the fort at full gallop, only stopping when my eyes began to sting with the road dust kicked up by my Hector's hooves. "Whoa," I murmur, pulling on the reins until the horse eases itself into a reluctant canter, then a prancing trot. "Easy now..." Finally, the horse reaches a standstill. Steam rises off its lathered neck.

I turn back towards the fort. Silhouetted against the blue sky are two small figures, kissing.

And I don't feel upset, only angry. And the anger is directed soley at myself, as if by thinking so much about being kissed by Sparrow, I had sealed my own fate with Elizabeth.

_Later_

The barge crawls towards the _Dauntless_ painfully slowly. I stare up at my ship, admiring the graceful cut of her bows. I try desperately to ignore the quick burning glances the oarsmen are shooting me. They will have heard about Elizabeth; they expect me to appear heartbroken. "One day head start 'e said," whispers somebody.

The challenge is called from the _Dauntless_, my coxswain answers. I can hear the boatswain piping 'All hands- Captain coming aboard'. It mocks me in a way that it never has done before. After all, how can a person be a Commodore with only one ship?

I pull myself up the ship's side, nod to Gillette. I climb up onto the quarterdeck and look down on the upturned faces of the entire ship's company. I determine to embellish the legend I hope to create. "DAUNTLESSES," I shout. "TODAY A PIRATE HAS ESCAPED THE JUSTICE HE SO RIGHTLY DESERVES!"

There is uneasy muttering in the crowd. I wave my hands for silence.

"BUT LET ME ASSURE YOU, MEN, ONE DAY'S HEAD START IS ALL HE GETS!"

Cheers follow from men who are rendered blind in their admiration for me.


	3. Dreams Of Abandon

Warning: the rating will go up to R for the next chapter

_Chapter Three- Dreams of Abandon _

_The Night Following The 'Execution'_

I'm lying in bed, treading the fine line between sleeping and waking- dozing some might call it. I yearn for the oblivion of sleep and yet I'm scared that I might have one of my dreams about Elizabeth. If I can't be with her in the waking world, I certainly do not want to be haunted by fantasies of her at night. In fact, I lie in bed for so long that I can no longer tell if I'm awake or not. I think I am.

Suddenly, I hear an odd scuffling noise. A rat, perhaps? This is a ship, after all. But no- it sounds like something bigger.

Silently, I swing my legs out of my cot. I creep across my cabin and take my sword down from the rack on the wall. I open the door into the Great Cabin with its sweeping stern windows and dining table, large enough for sixteen guests. Silver moonlight is streaming in through the windows and the figure of a man is silhouetted against the night.

The man doesn't seem to notice as I move stealthily up behind him- indeed, he betrays no surprise when I jab the point of my sword against his back.

A cockney voice speaks up. "Now, Commodore. You wouldn't want t' kill you're old friend Jack now, would ya?"

Bloody pirate.

My sword clatters to the floor. "What are you doing here? On my ship?"

Jack Sparrow laughs. "I thought you might be lonely," he murmurs. "Might welcome the company."

I try desperately to grapple with the situation. How did Sparrow get aboard? Where is his crew? Where is the Black Pearl? "I don't understand," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

"Let me show you." Four simple words hold a wealth of meaning. He turns around and steps towards me. He rests his hands against my chest and I think he must be able to feel the thumping of my heart through the thin cotton of my nightshirt. Then his right hand reaches up to caress my hair, while his left hand snakes around my back to pull me towards him.

As he presses his body against mine, a wave of heat courses through me. I moan with longing and he presses his lips against mine, his tongue diving into my mouth. The taste of rum is harsh and intoxicating. It comes as something of a shock to realise that I'm kissing back just as fiercely as him. Experimentally, I try to run one of my hands through his hair. It doesn't really work though, I just become entangled in the beads, and so I run my hand down his side.

His left hand has plunged down the back of my nightshirt and is tracing increasingly frantic circles across the muscles of back. He stops kissing me for a moment and nibbles on my ear before biting my neck. Suddenly, with overwhelming force, he pushes me down onto the dinning table and I lie on the polished mahogany, panting. He looks down on me. His lips are red and swollen and the look in his eyes is feral, like the eyes of a lion about to pounce on its victim.

A second later, he pounces.

I awaken with a start. My bed sheets are tangled around me and soaked with my sweat. "It was just a dream," I mutter. "Just a dream..." I try to reassure myself but the terrible thing is, I'm not altogether certain that I want to be reassured.

Indeed, my half state of arousal suggests I rather enjoyed that dream.

I remember that my mother, a foolish whimsical woman of course, used to say that a person's dreams reflect the innermost desires of the dreamer- in which case I desire to commit a crime so dreadful, so heinous, that it cannot be mentioned within the realms of polite society, with a _pirate. _

"_The Greek sin..._" I murmur, thinking of Sparrow's words. God help me.

Footsteps on deck alert me to the fact that it is morning so I get up. I try to shave with cold water. My hand is trembling and I cut myself twice. I don't run the blade under my chin for fear of cutting my throat. I consider calling for my cabin servant but the thought of another man's -any man's- hands touching me makes me nervous. What in heaven's name is wrong with me?

There's a knock on my cabin door. I pinch myself to make sure I'm really awake this time.

"Yes?" I answer.

"Letter arrived for you, sir. Messenger wouldn't say who from." It sounds like Groves, the second lieutenant, talking. "Well come in, man," I snap. "It might be important!"

Groves, a far more aggreeable man than Gillette, enters. He hands me the letter and salutes. He waits for further orders. I dismiss him, and then perch on the edge of my cot to read the letter:

_Commodore Norrington,_

_I trust this letter finds you well. It would, of course, be a shame to learn that Commodore Norrington, the scourge of piracy in the Caribbean, had hanged himself over a girl. I hope that you recover soon from your disappointment- but if I gave you my regrets I would be lying._

_Elizabeth is far better with the boy. They are meant to be together, as husband and wife, in a way that people like you and I can only imagine. You probably do not understand me- come to Tortuga and I'll show you what I mean._

_Yours very truly,_

_Captain J. Sparrow_

I notice the word 'Captain' is underlined.

_P.S. No tricks, okay? I'll know if you are not alone._

I stare at the spidery writing for a long time. I never imagined pirates could write.The letter disturbs me slightly; why does Sparrow imagine I would come to Tortuga to see him? I wonder if Sparrow knows how that kiss affected me. Is it possible? I have to find out.

And after all, why not? I can kill two birds with one stone. Go to Tortuga, track down Sparrow and find out what he means. Then, I can go back to the ship and bring a party of men to arrest him. It's all perfectly simple. I briefly entertain the possibility that Sparrow may want me as a hostage but for some reason I can't quite believe it.

After all, there is honour amongst thieves.

I pull on a clean shirt, necktie, stockings, breeches and silver-buckled shoes. My cabin servant darts through the door, obviously taken by surprise at the suddenness of my getting up. "Coffee, sir? Breakfast?"

"Yes. Attend to it immediately." I follow the little man out of my sleeping cabin and into the _Interceptor_'s great cabin. The skylight is open and I can hear voices talking on deck. Now is not the time for formalities. "GILLETTE!!!!!!!" I bellow.

A moment later there's a knock at the door. "Enter," I say and the marine sentry admits Gillette. The unfortunate man looks extremely flustered.

"You called for me, sir?"

I allow myself a smile. "One day's head start is all he gets, eh?"

The lieutenant's face splits into a grin. "Where to, sir?"

"Tortuga, Mr Gillette. Tortuga."

"Aye aye, sir!"


	4. The Dark Side Of The World

_Chapter Four- The Dark Side of the World _

_Two Days Later_

Gillette is wringing his hands. "Alone, sir! You cannot be serious, sir," he groans.

I fold my arms. "Tell me what you know of Tortuga, Mr Gillette?"

It appears that Gillette knows a great deal. "It's filled with taverns, cut-purses, drunken louts with nothing but murder on their minds and then there's the... the... erm, brothels, sir. Whores. Thousands of them. Please don't go, sir."

"Brothels, you said?"

Gillette nods reluctantly, looks miserable.

"And you propose that I let a group of sailors loose in the whore capital of the world! I'd never get them back! Are you out of your mind, man?!" I could almost laugh at the expression on Gillette's face.

"Send an officer with them."

I allow myself a small smile. "And which of my officers do you suggest I trust?"

Gillette looks crestfallen. I am one mean bastard. But there's something on Gillette's face that tells me I've involuntarily hit the mark. Gillette wants to go to Tortuga. My ridiculous straight-laced Lieutenant wants to visit the famous brothels of Tortuga!

Well, he's going to be disappointed.

_Tortuga_   
  
There are men everywhere. Some are passed out on the ground, many more are laughing and stumbling and singing, half-full bottles of run never far from their lips, others have their hands up whore's skirts or their faces buried in bosoms. I try to act inconspicuous as I gingerly thread my way through the narrow streets.  
  
I turn the corner into a narrow alley and freeze. My God.  
  
Directly in front of me are two young men. They're kissing, bodies pressed up against one another, moving to the same rhythm.  
  
The Greek sin... 

I try to turn back the way I came but another figure is blocking my way. He's just a boy, perhaps seventeen and reminds me of Will Turner; too pretty for his own good. "You want something?" asks the boy, backing me up against a stone wall. He runs a finger down my chest and the finger keeps moving downwards.

I recoil away from the boy: from his smell, his touch. "I don't... Don't... Can't..." I stammer.

"Can't?" whispers the boy. "I should certainly say you can," he laughs with a meaningful glance downwards.

I push him away with such force that he hits the opposite wall of the alley. A moment later his fist slams into my mouth and I taste blood as I fall to the ground.

The world is spinning and the boy is standing over me. He doesn't look much like a boy anymore. "What's to stop me taking you now," he growls.

"He's mine," says a familiar voice but I can't quite place the speaker.

The world turns black.

* * *

I have no idea where I am. I can smell smoke offset with rum and dirt and sweat. Below there's the sound of

"_And really bad eggs,_

_Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!"_

My head is pounding and I'm reluctant to open my eyes. Damn it, though! I have to know who's singing. I open my eyes a fraction. I'm lying on a narrow bed and the coverlet is stained. I don't like to think what with. I force my eyes open a little further and realise I'm in a small dark room, lit only by a candle next to the bed and moonlight filtered through the open window.

"_A pirate's life for me!"_

I turn my head to see the singer and my neck crunches. The singing stops.

"Sounds nasty," says the voice just as I manage to turn far enough to see that the speaker is Jack Sparrow.

"Sparrow," I croak. My throat is dry.

"_Captain_ Sparrow if you don't mind. Here." He walks across the room and holds a flask to my lips. He puts his other hand round the back of my head to support me. I hesitate and he smiles at me- really _smiles _instead of grinning or smirking. "It's not poisoned," he says softly.

I don't see that I have any choice in the matter. I try to raise my arms to hold the flask myself but my whole body feels like lead and I sink back down from the effort. "Just drink," says Sparrow, a little more firmly. He uses the same tone that I would reserve for a petulant child. Slowly, I open my lips and take a sip. It's not water, of course, but neat rum and I have to struggle not to splutter.

"Good stuff, eh?"  
  
"Vile," I say, once he's removed the flask from my mouth. "I hate rum."

"That's because you're uneducated!" he grins at me. "Or maybe it's because you areeducated. What would _you _drink?"

"Brandy, perhaps. Or else port." With one huge effort I manage to sit up.

"Take it easy," Sparrow says. He actually looks concerned, God damn him. I ignore his words and scan the room for possible exits. The window is on the second floor- I suspect we're above a tavern. There's a door but a smiling, swaying pirate blocks the way. "You wouldn't be thinking about escape now, would you?" He shakes his finger at me. "And after you came all this way to see me..."

Anger bubbles up inside me. "I did not come here to see you! I came to arrest you!"

He kneels down by the bed and leans close to me: so close that I move away from the heady sense of rum on his breath. "So that's why you came hear alone, unarmed? To _capture _me?"

I nod weakly, edge away from Sparrow until I'm perched precariously on the far end of the bed. Sparrow follows me across.

"I'll tell you the truth. I'll tell it and then you can choose what to do with it, savvy? The truth is you got my letter. You had to know what I meant- you, my dear James, were curious."

"It's Commodore Norrington to you, pirate."

"Then I should have to say: today was very nearly a case of curiosity killed the Commodore!" He laughs- a short, harsh bark of laughter. It strikes me that the pirate probably doesn't laugh all that often. I'm not altogether sure it's an agreeable sound. Then again, what could possibly be agreeable about a pirate?

_That dream, _says a nagging voice in my head. That dream was very agreeable...

"What happened to me?" I ask, reaching a tentative hand up to my throbbing head. "I can't remember a thing after coming ashore."

Sparrow gently –almost tenderly- takes hold of my wrist and guides my hand first to a swollen lump on the back of my head. "Where you fell," he says. He then guides it to my equally swollen jaw. "Where you were hit."

"Who hit me?"  
  
Sparrow looks evasive. "A man." I'm surprised to find that his long fingers are still encircling my wrist. He can probably feel my heartbeat. The intimacy is startling.

"Why did he hit me?"

"He wanted something."

I glance down in shock at my hand, where the pirate's thumb is softly tracing circles over the pulse.

"What did he want?" I ask him, my voice cracking and my hand trembling as I entwine our fingers together. I don't know why I do this; I just know that I want to.

"To have you," says Sparrow, very quietly.

I frown at him; clutch his hand even tighter. "I don't understand."

"Rape, sodomy, buggery... Call it what you like." Once again, there's a harsh bark of laughter. "I thought you were in the bloody Navy!"

I stare at him. "I don't-"

"Evidently!"

I sit in silence for a while, trying to digest all the new information. Sparrow, who does not seem to like silence, starts humming an upbeat tune in a jaunty, off-key kind of way. After a couple of minutes, he reaches for the flask of rum with his free hand and drinks deeply. "You see it's exactly what I said. You know, that night in the dungeons-"

"The Greek sin," I reply. "Men with other men." I can feel myself blushing furiously. "I had a dream..."  
  
"Yes?"

"You and me. We, err, well we-"

"Ahhhh." The pirate exhales softly, his hot breath ghosting across my neck.

I look down at my right hand, tightly gripping his left and part of me understands. "The dream was good."  
  
"Of course it was." Sparrow is not watching our hands but instead seems focused on the area of skin just under my ear.

"Can I have more rum?" I ask.

He hands me the flask; lets me drink by myself this time. "You hate rum," he says.

"I do." But I also know that I need the fire in my belly to do what I'm contemplating doing.

I hand Sparrow the now-empty flask. He lets it clatter to the floor and pulls me up so that I'm kneeling on the bed. He's still incredibly strong for his size. We stay still for a few moments. I still feel vaguely weak and dizzy and I have to hold onto him just to stay upright. He leans forward and whispers in my ear "forget what you think you know about me. You don't anything that you think you know."

He makes me look at him, right into his eyes, which are darker and deeper than I remember. Then he moves forward once more and slowly –and by God, I'm shivering- places a kiss on the exposed skin under my ear before biting down gently. And God help me, I moan as the pirate moves up my jawbone, kissing the skin softly.

It's nothing like my dream was. Sparrow is being so tender and so loving and still I turn my head as he makes to kiss me on the lips. "I'm a man of honour," I breathe. My last piece of resistance.

"So am I," he murmurs. "In me own way..."

It's not a lot but it's enough. I turn my head and kiss him properly and somehow laugh into the kiss because I never imagined that his beard would tickle as it does.

_Tbc..._


	5. The Pirate's Honour

Thank you to all these fantabulous reviewers: Kawaii Theif Kitsune (hey, thanks for putting this in you C2 Community- I'm kind of sorry for having to up the rating now…), elanion, im-a-day-dream-believer, ciz (thanks times two, I believe), Kickassangel (your offer of marriage is greatly appreciated but, alas, according to your bio you have a fiancé…) my beautiful darling Demus, Yuki Bombay, Lyowyn, the anonymous Commodore fan, mssparrington (thank you times four!) and Kleine Snowdrop. Erm, review again please!

_Chapter Five- The Pirate's Honour_

"What are you laughing at?" Jack Sparrow's face is accusing but his hazel eyes are sparkling.

I manage to restrain my giggles for a moment. "Your beard," I say, trying to inject a note of solemnity into my voice. I fail.

"My beard?" Sparrow's mouth opens slowly and he gives me a toothy grin of surprising warmth. He doesn't even protest as I reach out a finger to touch one of his gold teeth.

"I've been thinking of getting one of these," I joke.

"Wouldn't work."

"Why not?" I glance down to find that Sparrow's oddly gentle fingers have half-eased open the laces of my breeches. "Um." I swallow hard, finding myself oddly nervous.

Sparrow leaves my trousers and softly strokes a hand down my cheek. He kisses my forehead. "It takes a certain kind of man to pull off a beard and I'm afraid, my dear Commodore, that you just don't have what it takes."

_Commodore._

Tension creeps into my limbs. My body, just recently so pliant beneath Sparrow's roaming hands, freezes.

_Commodore Norrington._

"Relax." His hands stroke my back. Feather-light kisses are planted on my hairline and Sparrow murmurs something about a'no blasted wig' underneath his breath.

_Commodre Norrington, Officer in His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy._

"Could you maybe call me James?" I ask.

He nuzzles my cheek. "I'll call you what I like," he whispers. "My love."

I pull away from his embrace. "What did you call me?"

"I'll call you the King of bloody England, if it will stop you going all tense on me…"

I look carefully at Sparrow. There's lust in his eyes but also this overwhelming warmth. When I speak my voice comes out as a croak. "Do you think I could have some more rum?"

"You can have a whole bottle." Sparrow climbs off the bed and rummages through an untidy pile of his belongings. He emerges with a large bottle and tosses it to me. "Don't let it ever be said that old Jack's anything less than generous," he says.

I gulp down yet more of the rich spirit and watch the other man through half-lidded eyes. He moves around the room and lights candles until there are candles and dancing flames everywhere. Then he stands in the middle of the room and pulls his shirt over his head. It falls to the ground. "I'm not ashamed," Sparrow says. For a moment I'm unsure what he means but then he twirls round in the candlelight and I see that there are scars everywhere- jagged white scars cruelly marking tanned flesh. "I've had a hard life and I'm not pretty."

I've drunk too much now. I know I have. I can't seem to form words let alone coherent sentences. I can't seem to say things that I know as implicitly as I know my own being.

Jack Sparrow is sin.

Not _a _sin but rather sin itself. He is what my parents warned me about as I child. He is everything I know I should not want.

He is everything I _do_ want.

He is dangerous and he is beautiful. He knows what he is and is unashamed. He is everything I secretly long to be.

"Not pretty…" Sparrow repeats. His naked torso shines with sweat. "Take your shirt off, James," he says. "It's too hot in here."

My hands follow his instructions even while my eyes remain fixed on his. My shirt drops to the floor and I start to tremble, either with lust or fear or both. I drink more rum and become more scared. I'm aroused too. I'm a mass of contradictions. Part of me dreads Sparrow coming any closer to me; part of me longs for him to finish with the laces on my breeches.

Part of me longs to come undone.

"I don't know what you're scared of," Sparrow says in a frank voice.

"I'm not scared."

Suddenly, Sparrow is on the bed again. I cannot recollect him moving across the room. I try to sit more upright than I am doing but the pirate has other ideas. He pushes me down so that I'm lying on my back and then before I can take another breath he's looming over me. His dark eyes gleam as his nimble fingers roam across my chest: trace soothing circles as they roam ever lower.

"You don't have to be scared because whatever else I may do…" Sparrow leans down for a thoughtful chew on my left ear before continuing in a breathy whisper, "I certainly don't go around raping officers of the Royal Navy..."

His hands finish the laces of my breeches with a couple of quick movements. I try to sit up again; try to see what Sparrow is doing but an impatient hand pushes me back down.

"Relax, James."

"I've never…"

"Just because you've never done something doesn't mean you can't do it. Besides," says Sparrow with a wicked grin, "You don't have to do anything…"

"Jack-"

"Just let me pleasure you, lad. Close your eyes.Just forget and think about how it feels…"

I bite back a moan at the first sensation. Heaven. And then in my last second of clarity I realise that I called the pirate 'Jack'.

The Following Morning

Too much bloody light.

My eyes are tightly shut but it still gets though.

I groan loudly. "Oh God, get that bloody light away from me! Hell and Damnation- get it away!" I roll onto my front and bury my face in a pillow. "Oh no." Even the pillow smells of that goddamned rum. "It has to end," I moan.

"Not the best greeting I've ever have," says Jack Sparrow. "And might I remind you that I did not force the rum on you."

My head is pounding. I feel sick. "Make it end," I plead.

"There's only one way to avoid a hangover."

"What? Tell me." The pillow muffles my voice but Jack seems to understand my words.

"Keep drinking."

"Argh."

A moment later a weight settles on my lower back and tender hands knead my shoulders. "Just relax… Lose the pain…"

"Think about how it feels," I quote.

Jack laughs. "And it felt good, did it not?"

"Like I'd died and gone to heaven!"

"That's blasphemy, James!"

"Then may I burn in hell!"

Jack leans down and kisses the back of my neck."You'll feel better soon, love," he whispers.

"I already do." My stomach's settled and the percussion in my head had died right down. Jack's touch is like a healing balm.

He lifts his weight off my back for a moment so I can roll over.

I smile up at him, my eyes not yet fully opendue to the bright light flooding into the room.

"Kiss me, lad." Jack almost looks nervous of my response. He's nothing to fear. I pull his neck down with one arm and prop myself up on the other elbow. I gently touch my lips to his, chastely for a moment, then with more fire. I open my lips; let my tongue tease his.

"You can take me now, if you want," I say once we part. I sound shy.

Jack nods. "If you will."

He climbs right off me and removes his clothing. I raise myself fully onto my elbows in order to properly remove the breeches, laces undone, that I'm still wearing.

"I've wanted this for a fair while," Jack says, approaching me. "It'll hurt, you know. Not that I'll hurt you intentionally…"

I nod.

"But first time like this… It'll be painful and-"

CRASH!

Suddenly, the door to the room is broken off its hinges. Gillette and half a dozen marines climb across the rubble. "Lay a finger on the Commodore and I'll blow your brains out!"

Jack and I stare at each other in horror for a few seconds. "No-" I begin.

"Step away from the Commodore, you… you filthy sodomite!"

"No-"

"Aye, that I am," Jack says. "Filthy."

I stare at him.

The world spins.

_The drink._

_The shock._

_The love._

_The pain._

I feel myself falling.

Dimly, I can hear voices, as if through a mist.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"

Gillette screaming.

"I drugged him."

Jack smirking even as he sacrifices himself for my reputation.

The crack of a musket butt colliding with a head. A sharp intake of air.

_Pain._

"You'll hang for what you've done to him," says Gillette.

Gillette doesn't understand. I try to speak.

_Pain. _

I close my eyes.

_Pain. _

I black out.

_Tbc…_


	6. A Nightmare Scenario

Thanks to im-a-daydream-believer, Icarus Malfoy, EmperessRose, Icheb-lover, holy moly, Velven, cjz, Demus, Pirate Beauty, Culumacilinte, nekohebi, elaneon, mssparrington, Strange Music, ArwentheElvenStar, Captain Drew and Liz. You guys are the best.

There's a little clue about Jack's heritage in this chapter…

_Chapter Six- The Nightmare Scenario_

"I've bled him," the Surgeon says. A cool hand touches my forehead. "He's not too feverish."

"When will he wake?" Groves asks.

"He's waking now."

I hear the sound of footsteps retreating. I open my eyes, thinking that at last I'm left alone.

No such luck.

I find myself staring up into a giant eye. "Sorry, sir." The eye retreats a little, materialising into two entirely separate eyes and then into the face of Lieutenant Groves.

"What the Devil are you doing?" I demand. Groves looks remorseful and my voice softens. "I never want to see you that close again, Lieutenant, understand?"

My words earn me a grin. Groves straightens up and then touches a knuckle to his forehead in something vaguely resembling a salute. "Message from the foredeck, sir: Acting Captain Gillette sends his…"

"_Acting Captain_ Gillette?"

"Well, Lieutenant Gillette, sir. He send his respects and wishes to inform you that if the wind holds we should make Port Royal by sunrise."

At my request, Groves helps me sit upright and pours me a glass of wine. I drink deeply, nerving myself to ask the question on my mind. "Where's Sparrow?" I say.My voice sounds uncertain.

"He's in the hold, sir. Don't worry: he won't be escaping again." Groves pulls the bed sheet further up my bare torso in a ridiculously tender gesture.

A son to father gesture.

I open my mouth to tell the young Lieutenant to stop mollycoddling me but the words die on my tongue. I need to save my anger for Gillette.

"You can send for my steward," I inform Groves. "I have no intention of staying abed any longer."

"Yes, sir."

"And you cansend the _Acting Captain…" _I invest the title with as much scorn as I can. "…My compliments and inform him that I would be grateful if he could wait for me to die before taking charge."

"But, sir-"

"There's a name for those in the service who disobey orders…"

"Yes, sir." Groves salutes and promptly leaves- in all likelihood to inform Gillette that I just accused him of mutiny.

Left alone, I can't escape the fact that the ache in my head is nothing compared to the knot of foreboding in my stomach. I have to see Jack Sparrow.

Now.

* * *

A red-coated marine escorts me down to the Cargo Hold. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Cargo Hold is in the bowels of the ship: a nightmare damp place where prisoners spend their last days. The only company down here is the rats. Just above, lies the Orlop deck where the surgeon lives and from which the screams of the wounded resonate in battle. During a battle, the blood from the surgery drips through thetimber as if it's the ship itself who's bleeding.

Drip. Drip. Not blood but water.

The Cargo Hold leaks. All ships leak, of course. It's actually quite a worrying thought.

The marine gestures towards an iron cage. I can just make out a shadowy figure crouched in the corner. "That's him, Cap'n." He hands me an oil lamp. "If you need assistance, sir…"

"I'll be sure to call you," I say.

I wait for the marine to leave before I approach Sparrow's cage. His eyes glimmer in the candlelight.

"Well, well, well… This _is _familiar." Sparrow grins suddenly. "Are you getting a sense of déjà vu, James?"

My emotions rush to the surface. I feel overwhelmed and oddly faint too. I clutch an iron bar. "Oh, Jack-" I can't think of anything to say.

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I invited you to Tortuga…"

I sink to the floor; I hear myself hit it and yet I don't remember falling. "I'm so sorry," I croak. I sound weak, childlike… I sound like everything I despise. "I wish-"

"Shut up." Jack crawls towards me. "Wishes are useless. Hindsight too for that matter." He sighs. "We're in this situation and we'll just have to deal with it."

"I can't help you escape… It would ruin me."

Jack reaches through the bars and grabs the lapels of my uniform coat. "You're still scared, James," he says, as he pulls me towards him.

"Am I?"

"You know what it is that scares you, my dear Commodore?"

"The sodomy," I croak. I despise the word.

"No." Jack's voice becomes low and almost seductive as he leans closer to me. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. "The love…"

I start to shake. I can't help myself. _Too many home truths…_

"You're scared of love."

"Yes."

Jack pulls me towards him and presses his lips to mine. His tongue slips inside my mouth with familiarity. I know with aching certainty that this isall I want. I press a hand to his hot cheek as I kiss him. His hands grasp at my hair; they find the powdered wig and cling to it.

The kiss is frantic.

It's a last-time kiss- a saying goodbye kiss. Dimly, I realise I'm crying even as I kiss him; the floods of tears are brimming from my eyes.

We break apart but stay close, panting and breathing the same air.

"I always thought love was a gradual process," I admit. Somehow, I manage to smile through my tears.

"Nah. It's just like falling, James. Falling from a cliff into the sea and falling from safety into the stormy oceans of the heart is exactlythe same. You don't see the fall coming; it just happens."

"And there's nothing you can do about it."

Jack gives a wistful chuckle, which somehow turns into an uncharacteristic melancholy sigh. "_All that lives must die, passing through nature into eternity._"

"Shakespeare?" I ask. I sound incredulous and who can blame me? A pirate shouldn't know Shakespeare.

"Hamlet."

I take Jack's hand and stroke it, like I might stroke a woman's hand. "_If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; if not, why then this parting was well made._"

Jack smiles. "Shakespeare?"

"Julius Caesar."

Jack nods then pulls his hand from mine. He turns away abruptly and doesn't say another word, even as I plant a bottle of rum on the floor, where he can easily reach it through the bars.

My legs tremble as I leave the hold, climbing through the hatchway to the above decks.

* * *

Later, I summon Gillette to my cabin. 

"How did it feel, Mr Gillette?" I demand.

Gillette looks at me as if I've sprouted another head. "I beg your pardon, sir," he says.

"The power."

"Sir?"

_Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. _I open my mouth and shut it again. I want to shout at Gillette but can't find the words.

"Are you sure you're alright, sir?"

"Yes, Mr Gillette. I am alright."

Gillette hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, he's done everything right. As far as he's concerned, he only saved his commanding officer from a buggering. I should probably reward him.

Instead I dismiss him; my voice is sore from the shouting I haven't done.

* * *

When everything else is lost, there's always duty to turn to. As the sun crawls westward across the sky, I pace the windward deck. Up and down… Up and down… Up and down until the rhythm of my footsteps has drowned out the misery of my own thoughts. 

It's quiet on deck; a silence broken only by the sound of my own footfalls. The sailors move about their tasks sluggishly, as if my own misery has spread to them. Their ruddy faces look sombre, dulled.

Somehow, Groves appears beside me. I don't send him away but I don't acknowledge him either.

I just pace.

"Sail ho!" hails the lookout, disturbing the almost-silence.

I glance upwards to where, one hundred feet above the deck, a seaman is perched precariously.

I give a nod to Lieutenant Groves. "Where away?" he shouts.

"Square off the larboard bow!"

"You afraid of heights, Mr Groves?" I tease.

"No, sir." Groves finds a telescope and climbs up the ratlines to the crow's nest.

On deck, I welcome the prospect of action: I welcomeanything to delay the return to Port Royal- anything to give me time to work out what to do with Sparrow.

"Sir!" Groves' voice sounds faint. "Sir!"

I cup my hands around my mouth. "Lieutenant!"

"It's the Pearl, sir! The Black Pearl!"

_Surely not. _I shake my head. The hair at the back of my neck prickles. Goosebumps form along my arms.

_The Black Pearl. _The name is like a shiver down my spine.

I snatch a glass off Gillette, who has just appeared on deck. My erstwhile Lieutenant looks sheepish but defiant. _As well he might_.

I scramble up into the ratlines, clinging on to the rope with one hand and the telescope with the other. The ship rolls beneath me and almost paralyses me with fear. Heights have never been my strong point. On the ship's upward roll I manage to put the glass to eye and gaze out to sea.

My breath catches in my throat when I first see her. _My God…_

Black tattered sails ghosting in the breeze. Bow cleaving through the ocean. Sunlight glittering on polished timber.

For a second I see her how Jack sees her. I glimpse what she really is- not just a ship but freedom.

But then I remember who I am and what I am and what I must do.

I rush down the ratlines and hit the deck with a crash. Gillette steadies me and I smile at him. He smiles back.

"Beat to quarters! Clear for action! Man the larboard guns!"

_Tbc…_


	7. The Heartbeat Of A Drum

Thank you Maya Sparrow, Green Bird, Demus, The Great and Powerful Oz, Icarus Malfoy, Saavik13, God, Goldensong, Dortha and meg.

_Chapter Seven- The Heartbeat Of A Drum_

I watch the men run about me, laying out shot and powder charges by every gun. They spread sand across the floor in anticipation of the time when it will run red with slippery blood. One hundred feet above my head, sailors swarm through the rigging as they fight to remove and restrain the billowing canvas. As the sails draw less and less, the Dauntless reluctantly slows.

The Black Pearl bears down on us and yet she looks less fearsome with every passing second. It becomes evident that the Pearl is no match for the Dauntless. Fewer guns, fewer men. What the hell is she playing at?

I'm not even remotely afraid of the oncoming encounter. Instead the adrenaline is coursing through my veins and my heart is beating in time with the fast pounding of the marine drummer. I grin wildly at Gillette as he rushes towards me.

"Ship cleared for action, sir! Eight minutes, nine seconds!" Gillette has the smug look of the proverbial cat that got the cream.

"Very fast!" I commend, loudly enough for the nearest sailors to hear. I run my gaze across the ship and all looks well. I find my hand clutching the hilt of my sword and I slowly withdraw the blade from the scabbard. The hard steel gleams red in the fading sunlight. By God, I call myself a gentleman and yet I love a fight as much as any of these men; as much as any ragamuffin or tavern drunk or common seaman or pirate.

"Sir! Sir!" Groves shouts. "Look at this!"

I borrow Groves' telescope and train it on the Black Pearl. I watch as the other ship drops a boat into the water. Then the Pearl stands off, while the small boat rows closer to us. There is a white flag of truce flapping in the bows.

"A flag of truce!" Gillette sounds incredulous. "What in the Devils' name do they plan to achieve!"

One minute later and I know.

Oh, God in heaven. Please no.

Sitting in the boat's stern, his hands tied and a pistol to his head, is Governor Swann.

"Bloody hell," I murmur.

"Fire on the boat, sir?" asks Gillette.

"And kill the Governor!" I turn on the lieutenant suddenly, irrationally and angrily. "Now that's a commendable plan, Mr Gillette," I say. My words drip with sarcasm.

"You're right, sir," says Gillette. He lowers his eyes.

I abandon Gillette for a moment, in order to better examine the boat that is heading towards us. Through my telescope, I can see the terror etched into Governor Swann's face. His eyes are big and black, wide and fearful. I pity him.

And then I understand.

I beckon over the Captain of the Marine Guards, a harsh-featured man with the unfortunate name of Arthur B. Strange. "You had best escort our prisoner on deck," I tell Captain Strange.

A moment later, Jack Sparrow swaggers on deck. He wears the ties binding his wrists as if they are prized possessions: made of gold and silver thread… ornements, trinkets, finery. The moment Sparrow spots me, he gives me a cocky wink but nothing more: nothing to show that he loves me- nothing to show that he's stolen my heart.

"Insolent pirate!" groans Gillette, who has witnessed the wink. "What are we going to do with him?"

"_You, _Mr Gillette are going to oversee the exchange of prisoners: Sparrow for Swann." I shake my head. "_I_, on the other hand, am going below. You may send Governor Swann to me when he's ready." I stalk off below, with my heart still beating from anticipation of the fight that never occurred.

As soon as I'm in my cabin, I slump down into my hammock and close my eyes. I get barely two seconds rest before the marine sentry knocks at the door and announces the arrival of Lieutenant Gillette.

Why me?

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" I growl.

"Prisoners successfully exchanged, sir." Gillette reports. "I've come to ask permission to fire on the boat as it returns to the Pearl."

"You do not have permission."

Gillette's eyes widen. "Why ever not, sir?"

I search for a legitimate reason. "Because of the flag of truce," I lie.

"You can break the truce!" Gillette urges me. "They're pirate scum- nobody's going to blame you for firing on them!"

"NO!"

Gillette stares at me, horrified. "But sir!"

One glance is enough to quieten him. "You are dismissed," I say, in my most final tone of voice. I watch him go.

Left alone, I can think.

I know I should fire on the boat. It's my duty. I know I should and yet I can't.

Jack Sparrow is in the boat.

The man I love – God help me – is in the boat.

Reluctantly, I go back up on deck. I approach the helmsman. "Set a course for Port Royal," I instruct. "Let's go home."

The word 'home' catches in my throat.

Home to an empty bed.

Home to an empty life.

Without Jack.

_Tbc…_


	8. Through The Heat Haze

Thank you Icarus Malfoy, God, PA, Liz, SweetDeath13, Lyowyn, Two-Bit Wannabe, Dortha, GoldenSong, Demus, Lowri Brandybuck, Inkie Pinkie et Les Lapins Mauvais.

_Chapter Eight- Through The Heat Haze_

What follows is a period of calm; a time of long, hazy days of nothing but stillness and the liquid gold of the sunlight melting into the sea. No wind stirs the sails and the _Dauntless_ makes scarcely a knot as she crawls through the water.

_A painted ship, upon a painted ocean. _

I pace the quarterdeck. Up, down. Up, down. Up-

"The wind will come soon, sir. It has to." That's Gillette at my elbow, a frown on his face as he senses my frustration. He reminds me of the cat I have at home; the cat that crawls onto my page if I'm trying to read or purrs loudly whenever I'm in need of a moment's peace.

I sigh. "Do you read poetry, Mr Gillette?" I ask.

"Me, sir? Rarely, sir."

"_Day after day, day after day,  
We stuck, nor breath nor motion  
As idle as a painted ship  
Upon a painted ocean."_

I don't look at Gillette as I recite; I stare past him to the horizon where sky blends flawlessly into sea.

The horizon where Jack is.

"That's the Rime Of The Ancient Mariner, sir!" Gillette is proud, practically beaming. I try to smile at him but I fear there's no warmth to it.

I turn back towards the horizon. I can see Jack in my mind's eye, even now pacing the deck of the Pearl or the boards of his cabin. Possibly he's perched on the figurehead, a leg dangling over either side and his bare feet pointing downwards, bathed in glistening droplets of spray. Perhaps he's swimming with dolphins; his lithe body coiling through the water… Ridiculous.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

I shake my head. _Back to the real world, James_. "I'm fine, Mr Gillette. Just a little hot, that's all."

"Any orders, sir?"

I smile, a little wistfully. "Yes. All hands that can swim are free to do so."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

_Jack swimming with dolphins. Sounds like heaven._

I'm not really sure what motivates me – heat stroke, perhaps, or else the heat generated with every thought of Jack – to step towards the ship's side.

Madness.

I remove my uniform jacket, then my hat and wig. My stockings and breeches pool around my feet. I discard my necktie and shoes and step onto the searing timber. I take a sharp intake of breath and then cross the three strides to the ship's side. I hoist myself into the rigging and lean out over the glistening sea. The sun is hot on my back.

For a moment I'm merely tempted.

Then I jump.

I hear laughter and the patter of feet as men rush to the ship's side, eager to catch a glimpse of their boring, stiff-upper-lip, fun-is-forbidden Commodore frolicking naked in the sea.

* * *

"Whatever possessed you?" asks Governor Swann, as we finish a near-silent dinner. 

"Heat stroke, I believe." I allow myself a smile. "I feel much better now." _Lies, all lies…_

"Oh, well, that _is _good," says the Governor weakly. He pushes his plate away from him and sets down his cutlery with a tremulous clatter. His hands are still shaking, poor man. "This heat and endless calm is trying my patience…" He gulps down some wine. "We will catch Sparrow, won't we?"

Once again I find myself lying through my teeth. "I have a plan," I say.

Hmm... I wonder if I could have Jack Sparrow as my 'cabin boy'- ostensibly as a form of punishment, of course.

"A plan? Oh good, good." Swann gives a faint smile. "I shan't inquire… I am not sure that I have the stomach for fighting pirates."

Neither do I, my dear Governor.

Not _fighting _them, anyway.

I scrape my chair back from the table and rise. "I bid you goodnight, Governor."

He offers me his big ivory-white hand and I enclose it in both of my own. It quivers and the Governor sighs. He's clearly shaken.

"Goodnight, Commodore Norrington," he says.

I leave the room softly and turn around, giving him a gentle smile through the ever-closing gap between door and doorframe.

* * *

With this blasted calm it is sunset the next day before we reach Port Royal. A bloody sunset too, with crimson sky bleeding into black ocean. 

I leave Gillette in charge of the ship and escort Governor Swann back to his house. Elizabeth is there to meet us, red-eyed and lovely. "I thought you dead!" she cries, embracing her father and me and then her father again. She invites me in for supper but I refuse. I do not think I could stand their happiness.

Instead I walk alone to my own house, which is grey and square and cold as the night that has now fallen.

Inside, the house is dark and empty. _Lovely_, I think, as I grope around for a candle. I eventually find a candle but there's nothing to light it with. A tinder box. I need a tinder box!

I manage to find the staircase – how I don't know – and by clinging onto the banisters I find myself on the third floor. I turn left, creeping along the corridor. I flinch as I step onto a creaky floorboard before I remind myself that there's no one at home.

No one but me.

Alone.

I collide with something in the darkness. There's a hard hollow thud as something heavy hits the floor, missing my toe by inches. It must have been the stature of Venus, cast in bronze. Monstrosity. I hope it's broken.

"Hello, Commodore. Old Jack here's been expecting you."

It's a disembodied voice in the darkness. It's cockney and familiar. I yearn for it and find myself smiling, hardly daring to believe.

"Jack?" I ask, my voice a half-croak.

There's no reply.

I sigh and my shoulders slump. I manage to discover my bedroom and a cold blast hits me as I enter.

I find the fireplace and scrabble on the hearth for the tinder box.

"What in the seven hells do ya think you're doing?" It's that voice again- that wonderful voice...

"Jack, is that you?" I ask.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I'm dreaming." The obvious answer.

"No you're not."

"How did you get into my house?"

"I'm a pirate, James! I could break into heaven itself."

From behind me comes the metallic sound of a flint as it strikes and then a moment later the dark world is cast into an orange hazy glow.

I turn around.

"Hello, Commodore," says Jack Sparrow, lying face down on my bed, with the lower half of his body wrapped in my white silk bed sheets. I watch him as, leaning over the edge of the bed, he sets an oil lamp on the floor. My eyes drink him in, roaming over his body from the bare chest to his - my God, what an immodest fabric silk is - delectable arse.

I swallow. "Jack."

"Baby," Sparrow says. It sounds odd and yet quite endearing. "It's bloody freezing in here."

"I'll light the fire," I suggest. My voice is still a little croaky.

Sparrow shakes his head. "Bad idea," he says. "In harsh climates there is only one thing to do."

"What?"

"Remove all clothing and… huddle." God, there it is. Huddle. Two syllables with infinite possibilities. Jack climbs off the bed, as naked as the day he was born. He sidles up to me and wraps an arm around my waist. The other hand reaches up to my head and removes my wig, and then slowly unwinds the ribbons that tie my hair back; easing and unravelling strands asit works. Soon my hair hangs loose. "That damned wig has to go, James. Look at you now." Jack thrusts me in front of a looking-glass mounted on the wall. "You're so young."

My image stares at me, dark-eyed, with soft brown curls reaching past my shoulders.

"You'd make a fine pirate," Jack laughs.

"That's good…" I say, taking the powdered wig off Sparrow. I place it on his own head; the effect is ridiculous. "…Because you'd make a bloody awful naval officer…"

He laughs again. And with his eyes gleaming, and the faint tang of rum on his breath, he kisses me properly.

And this time there will be no disturbances.

_Tbc…_


End file.
